


Beg For It

by celeste9



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Extra Treat, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Kink Discovery, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-04 05:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: “War is hard. So is life. A person needs to forget sometimes. You understand?” Her hand is on his cheek again, her thumb on his lip, pressing.Poe suddenly understands very clearly.





	Beg For It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flexible_flyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flexible_flyer/gifts).



> Thank you for giving me the excuse to write this fic. :D I hope this is like what you had in mind!

The first time it happens, Poe is so shocked he can’t do anything but stand there, gaping dumbly, his cheek stinging.

“Get your head together,” Leia hisses at him, her tiny frame virtually quivering with righteous fury, and Poe nods.

“Yes, General. Sorry, General. I… You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll wait for your orders.” Poe strides out of her office and wonders if everyone can see how red his face is.

-

The second time, he dreams it.

He doesn’t know what he said or did but it must have been stupid, and she slaps him right across the face. Poe stands there, touching his cheek, humiliated, but then he thinks… Kriff, she is _beautiful,_ and he can’t stand the thought that he has upset her, that he has made her this angry, but in the wake of her hand on his cheek he feels… he feels…

He wakes up and he’s hard; he has sweated through his sheets. He jerks off in his bed while he remembers the sting of Leia’s hand; he imagines it as he twists his wrist and flicks his thumb, that shock of pain, and he is picturing her face when he comes.

He is so embarrassed afterwards that he can’t look her in the face that entire day.

-

Poe finds himself unable to get the thought out of his head. It’s ridiculous, like he’s a hormonal teenager, overly fixated on getting off, but the memory of Leia slapping him lingers in his head during meetings, when she assigns him missions, when he reports back to her. He lies in his bed at night and touches himself while he imagines it and then falls asleep flushed with shame.

He fantasizes about provoking her until she does it again and then is so horrified at himself that he wonders if he can even be trusted in her command.

Of course he won’t do it. There is a war to be fought and Poe kind of wants to win (hell, he wants to win _a lot_ ), not to mention that Leia really doesn’t need the extra trouble.

But he thinks about it.

-

Ultimately it’s an accident.

Poe should have known better. It’s quiet and dark outside where Leia stands alone, clearly absorbed in her own thoughts. Poe doesn’t want to disturb her but she looks so tired and sad and he wonders if he can’t do something for her; so he moves beside her and says, “General--”

But he has startled her; her eyes are wide and wild and she looks as though she doesn’t even recognize him for a moment. She reaches out and smacks him in the face, her nails catching his lip, and Poe winces, hand coming up to his mouth.

“Kriffing hell, Poe,” she exclaims, arm back by her side. “I was thinking about… This isn’t the time or place to be sneaking up on anyone. Don’t--” But she seems to notice he’s bleeding and she stops. “Blast,” she mutters, easing his hand aside and touching his lip.

“It’s fine,” Poe says, though his lip feels swollen and he thinks he might have bit his tongue. His cheeks are flushed but it isn’t for the reason Leia thinks.

He wants to kneel at her feet and beg for it.

“Wasn’t once enough for you, Dameron?” she mutters, tilting his head to the side to peer at his face, checking how badly she has damaged him.

“No,” Poe can’t stop himself from saying, voice rough. He flushes more brightly.

Leia arches an eyebrow.

“I meant…” Poe trails off, deeply, deeply embarrassed.

“I think I know what you meant.”

She is watching him with consideration in her gaze.

“That I can’t help but be provoking?” Poe tries.

“Nice try.” Leia presses her thumb into the fresh sore on Poe’s lip.

He whimpers.

Leia raises her hand and slaps his other cheek, more firmly this time, purposeful.

Poe’s head is knocked to the side. His knees feel weak.

He can feel himself harden; it must be noticeable. It’s humiliating and yet he is still turned on. His blood is rushing between his legs and kriff, it’s been a while since he has had cause to hope for anything but his own hand on his dick.

Not that he has cause to hope now. Unless it’s that Leia might hit him again.

Leia still looks so carefully appraising. He can’t believe she hasn’t shouted yet, chastised him for being inappropriate. He is her pilot, her soldier, he isn’t supposed to -

“It’s been a long day,” Leia tells him quietly. “You startled me out of a highly displeasing train of thought.”

“Er, I’m sorry, General, I know I shouldn’t have--”

She smacks him again, but lightly, and Poe stops talking.

“I think you know how it feels,” she says, “to be unable to find refuge even in your own head.”

Poe thinks of Jakku, and the _Finalizer._ He says, “I do.”

“I have always found you to be an excellent soldier. Trustworthy, reliable. I think I wouldn’t be remiss in adding discrete to that list.”

“I know when to keep my mouth shut, if that’s what you mean. Or at least, I know how to keep the important things to myself.” He does have difficulty keeping his mouth shut in general, but mostly what comes out of it is sass, not secrets.

Leia’s mouth twitches. “Yes, I know. So I wonder, Poe, if we might come to some… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“General?”

“War is hard. So is life. A person needs to forget sometimes. You understand?” Her hand is on his cheek again, her thumb on his lip, pressing.

Poe suddenly understands very clearly.

“Yes, General.” _Please, General._

“Good. I’m very glad to hear it.” Leia steps back from him and Poe mourns the loss. “I’m going to retire to my quarters. I think you know the way?”

A hot flush is settling in Poe’s belly. He feels as though he is aching, his pants far too tight. He wants to lie between Leia’s legs and worship her; he wants to feel the sting of her palm; he wants her to curl her fingers in his hair and push him where she wants him. “I do.”

“Then please find your way in twenty minutes. The door will be open for you.” Leia hits him once more, the strike of her palm on his flesh sounding loud in the quiet. “Don’t be seen and don’t be late.”

“Yes, General,” Poe says, purposefully digging his nails into his own palm so that he won’t embarrass himself. Kriff, the things he would like to do with her. He exhales deep through his nose and tries to will away his erection, banishing all thoughts of her hands on his skin, his mouth on hers.

Her look is sly as she leaves him.

Poe stands outside in the darkness and knows his skin is reddened, his lip scabbing over. He will need to invent a story but Poe is good at stories.

He wonders if she will let him kneel, let him beg for it.

He is not seen, and he is not late.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Beg For It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314819) by [thriceandonce (sylvaine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvaine/pseuds/thriceandonce)




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